


Smol Floof

by ByelingualBH (ByeBH)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bee pun im sorry, Cas is hot okay, Castiel you're millennia old stop making that face, Dean Winchester's Terrible Life, Dean is dealing, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Gen, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Humor, Kaia Nieves Lives, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 13, dadstiel, lil bit of crack is good for the soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByeBH/pseuds/ByelingualBH
Summary: In which there is a home invasion and gut-wrenching lack of sexytimes. Dean tries to cope.Based on FirewoodFlannel's prompt about kitten bees.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Patience Turner & Jack Kline
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRithri_OfOrsinium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRithri_OfOrsinium/gifts).



> Wholly unbetaed and potentially syrupy sweet. Consume at your own risk.
> 
> Based on FirewoodFlannel's prompt: "While we're on the topic of bees, has anyone written a fic with these cuties? Cause if not, someone should 🧡"  
> 

Dean was used to living in a war. He’d been raisedꟷ and Sam bornꟷ into one, and then it was like dominos. Not the cheesy deliciousness kind either, because Fate and her sisters had been pissed at them since before Cas and his limey brother had tried to kill her.

And then they’d found the Bunker. A rare sanctuary, warded and concealed against all who starred opposite them in the good fight.

Which is why it was so _fucking_ unfair, that after he’d been lulled into a ꟷfalseꟷ sense of security, the attack snuck into their home turf.

You know what? He’s going to start at the beginning.

It was an achingly normal Tuesday. Sam’s almost comical aversion of the day aside (it had been _years_ , get over yourself), it went like most Tuesdays did: some idle research, Jack figuring out what parental controls were, Cas nearly burning down the place in his dalliance with the toaster . . . you know, the usual shenanigans.

At midday, Dean figured a nap was in order. He clicked on the most boring article he could find on Sam’s laptop (hard to choose between contenders in the ‘Home Remedies for Hair and Heart’ folder) and settled in to welcome the wave of sleepiness.

Sleep didn’t stand a chance.

It was the soft shuffle of Jack’s fluffy slippers on the linoleum that heralded what would turn out to be the greatest test of his willpower.

Well, not really. But if he had to pinpoint that first domino, that moment would be it. He blamed his naivete on how harmless and innocent the kid looked, in the hand-me-down pizza pajamas he’d stolen from Dean and the shirt he’d stretched out beyond salvage.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” he was even nice about it. He’d paused and turned to look at Jack attentively, smiling openly.

“I was texting Patience,” Jack started. Dean suppressed the impulse to tease.

Jody, Donna and their little band of wayward sisters had spent Christmas at the Bunker. Jack had made . . . an _impression_. He’d roped a reluctant and bemused Claire into taking up the role of protective older sister, Alex had been tickled pink, and the restꟷ as they sayꟷ was history.

Then there was Patience, relatively new to the wayward clan herself. With the exception of Kaia . . . but the dream-walker wasn’t really struggling with the ‘fitting in’ aspect of things (cough, cough).

Patience though. Sam and Dean had exchanged fond grins, watching Jack turn into an awkward foal in her presence. Then Dean had leaned over, a little too close maybe, and informed Cas that this was, in fact, a milestone. And no, please don’t traumatize the kid again by breaking out the anatomy book.

“So, this may be nothing . . . but she said a friend was having some trouble at a family-run store.”

Dean pursed his lips, avoiding instant dismissal.

He’d been trying, lately.

Ever since Lucifer’s death, one of the dark clouds hanging over the Winchester family had dissipated. Then Ketch had busted out the ‘ _Egg-_ xorcism’ surprise (see what he did there?) for that two-faced bitch Michael and bing bang boom!

A sea of turmoil had parted, what with a sizeable chunk of Sammy’s hunter network dispersing int normal life in the ensuing lull. Maggie still came by often, and Mom and Bobby were only a few hours away.

“Lay it on me,” Dean encouraged. Even if it turned out to be a bust, they’d use it as an excuse to visit Jody’s. Literally no one would complain. Such an innocuous sentiment. How was he supposed to know it’d bite him in the ass so spectacularly?

So, it wasn’t a bust.

“Dean!”

Dean ducked automatically, because he was an intelligent creature who learned from his mistakes. An actual fireball hurled through where his head was mere moments ago, leaving a threatening scorch on the wall before him. He huffed. That was close.

“Jack, get that bin!” Cas was calling. Dean turned at the sound of his voice, shooting a brief look to make sure his angel boyfriend was still looking spiffy and unharmed. He was, given that he was a certified badass.

Wordlessly, the brothers moved to defend the other two as they hurried to burn the seemingly unending string of haunted objects. Timmy-the-dorky-teenager’s family boasted a ‘supernaturalist shop full of mystery and intrigue’.

Which directly translated to ‘dumbass plebs poking their noses where they really should not’, because their last shipment was literally chock full of cursed objects.

It would’ve been that much simpler had they not catalogued and dispersed everything into the giant, cluttered shop. The only good (kinda) thing that came out of it was the fulfilment of Sam’s fanatical library card fetish. They had a stack of ‘em, with all the new items highlighted, that Sam was fondling with almost creepy care.

Okay, fine, he wasn’t _fondling_ , per se. But no goddamn piece of paper was that precious.

The last of the cursed jewelry clattered and clanked in the bin. With the telltale whoosh of fire, there was a brief reprieve. Dean was panting, disgusted at the foul ectoplasm coating a shoulder. He gagged.

“Here,” Cas had a hand extended towards him. Dean caught it and lifted it to his lips.

“Save your mojo,” he chastised gently. Cas blushed a little, still unused to the blatant PDA.

The first thing he’d told Dean, when they’d had a serious talk about the whole thing, was that he’d understand if Dean was reluctant about ‘outwardly signs of affection’. Dean had reassured that the reality was quite the contrary, then proceeded to demonstrate. Enthusiastically.

Sam gagged, like he had constantly done during that first week. “We still have half the store to go through, guys. Can we please focus?”

“Sam,” it was Jack who came to their rescue. Ever since he’d crashed ass over teakettle into humanity, he’d started taking humanisms a little too seriously. “It is important to show our support and love through our overt behavior.”

Okay, this one time, he’d let it slide. That came from the goodness of his heart, not the fact that Sam spluttered, torn between wanting to be a role model and a little shit. Dean grinned triumphantly, “ _Yeah_ , Sam. Duh. It’s your sacred duty to be _supportive_ and _loving_. While Cas and I engage in some _overt behaviors_.”

Cas tugged his hand away and poked him, a little too hard, in the goo-embalmed shoulder. “Behave.”

Dean rolled his eyes as his jacket was once again pristine. Ish. This from the guy who’d tried to give the most horrifying sex talk in the history of sex talks. A little innuendo might even go a long way to scour away the trauma rooted in _that_ particular memory.

The next card after ‘J’ was ‘M’. _Mystical creatures_. ‘Not real ones,’ Timmy had promised. ‘Just statues and dolls,’ he’d reassured.

Timmy, as mentioned, was a dumbass pleb.

Sam’s nostrils were flaring in annoyance as Dean continued to be deliberately obtuse.

“Is it this one?” Dean enquired innocently.

“I don’t know, _Dean_ ,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth. “Does that look like Mesopotamian figurine of a lion-headed bird?”

Team Free Will 2.0 took a beat to appraise the statue perched unobtrusively on a shelf.

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. Next to him, he felt the subtle tremors of Cas’s silent mirth.

“That’s a goddamn _basilisk_!” Sam shrieked. Oh, little brother, you make it too easy. Before he could continue ranting, there was a quiet clatter followed by a long silence.

Cas shot them a look.

“Jack . . .?” Dean called cautiously.

The response was faint and sheepish. “Um.” The three of them almost collided in their attempt to loop around the long line of shelves. The panic simmered down when they saw Jack awkwardly fidgeting around the corner, hopping from foot to foot guiltily. There was a lump of puce at his foot, but he looked intact. “Oops?”

“Jack, we cautioned you against interacting with the objects,” Cas reminded mildly. The kid looked even more guilty, so Dean patted his boyfriend on the shoulder in dismissal.

And then shit got _real_.

“Guys,” Sam said, voice tight. “Tell me I’m imagining that.”

“Huh?” Dean frowned, turning. Sam was staring at the lump, standing very, very still. A feeling of dread eked into his chest at the same time as Cas replied, “No. No, Sam. You are not.”

“I think I woke it up?” Jack continued, apparently unbothered by the mildly trembling mass at his feet.

“What the fuck is ‘it’?” Dean demanded, already reaching for his gun. This was a shoot first, ask questions later sitch if he’d ever seen one.

A bunch of things happened at once.

The wiggly mass moved, almost expanding, and Cas _moved_. In a blink, he’d put his angelic speed to good use, gracefully hauling Jack away. Sam cursed, dropping the cards he was frantically flipping through. Dean cocked his gun and took aim. And then the . . . _thing_ unwound, looking nauseatingly like a fetal blob with a mouth hole and sharp teeth. Its maw gaped and it let loose a wail, knocking a rack over in its thrashing.

Dean winced, shooting at the thing. Anticlimactically, it collapsed back into position and fell silent. Unmoving.

Cas met his gaze and the excess adrenaline had just started to recede when his eyes widened. His blade flashed as he shouted, “Sam! Dean!”

(Ducking didn’t really help with the whole prancing tiger thing, as it turns out.)

It was pandemonium.

They weren’t statues. They were literally like those little expand-in-water magic pellets, animating and launching off shelves with their myriad of war cries, hisses, growls and grumbles. The tiger-thing seemed to be personally offended by Dean, and had decided to abandon Sam.

He grappled, arching away from the putrid breath and giant-ass teeth. Sharp claws dug into his chest and he staved off memories of hellhounds. He could hear the others dealing with the other creatures. Dean was saddled with the biggest threat, thankfully. Or not, depending on how soon he broke his arms against the strength of the livid feline.

And then his knight-in-rumpled-trenchcoat was ripping the creature off with a growl to rival the tiger’s. You had to forgive him for his momentary lapse of attention, because his boyfriend was flipping the tiger like the pancakes he never could and stabbing it through the skull. Dean shivered a little, lamented at that tan sack covering that tight ass, and launched to his feet.

All things considered, the skirmish ended relatively soon. In hindsight, not all creatures necessitated the treatment that the tiger and the _basilisk_ and the goddamn _Anzu_ had. (Dean knew what it looked like, thank you very much. He didn’t need that up and close encounter with the roaring lion-head for educational purposes, Samuel.)

“Jack, you okay?” he hopped over the squashed remains of the magical spider thingies. The kid was pouting balefully at his own ankle, extended a foot above the ground.

“Just twisted it,” Jack waved off his concern, but he accepted the guiding hand. “I’m good, Cas.” Because of course Cas had already dealt with the _Alp_ and was blowing across the room at Dean’s words. Dean bent down to confirm and turned to nod at Cas.

Cas looked tired, but unharmed. He was sporting a split lip and his hair was obscenely ruffled, but that seemed to be about it. That, or he was doing that thing where he soldiered on and concealed his injuries like fucking Houdini.

Dean made a note to thoroughly investigate when they got to Jody’s later.

“Okay,” Sam called. He had his shotgun propped at his side, bent over the scattered cards. “I think we got the worst of ‘em.”

“Fucking finally,” he groused. Then he yelped as Cas swatted his arm. Seriously, did no one else remember the anatomy book incident and entirely whose fault it was?

“Are you hurt, Dean?” Cas’s voice was completely at odds with the mild annoyance on his face. He always packed so much into that word, like it wasn’t just his name but some sort of code for a sea of sentiments.

“Nah, angel,” he reached out and swiped his thumb across said angel’s cheekbone. He was rewarded by a hint of redness under his palm. “You intervened before I could become kitty chow.” He stepped closer, dropping his fingers to swipe under chapped lips, “Gotta let me take care of that. Don’t need to waste your mojo on a little slice.”

“Of course,” Cas put on a brave face, but Dean could see how his actions were affecting the angel. It was delightful.

“I’m fine too, thanks,” Sam called, cockblocking attention whore that he was. Dean rolled his eyes at Cas, whose mouth ticked in a restrained smile. “Here, Jack. Why don’t you tell us what we missed while the rest of us look around?”

Jack immediately brightened at the prospect of not being a liability. Painfully similar to Cas in that aspect, and they all knew whose fault it was. Hence, the trying. There was an unending list of amends Dean had to make, and at some point, Jack had snagged the topmost slot.


	2. Chapter 2

The only mystical creatures left were cowardly and/or benign critters, though he was loath to believe that watching the _duende_. Sue him, he had a track record with little winged ladies, naked or otherwise.

They found an honest-to-God _kneazle_ cub (Jack wanted to know if J. K. Rowling would appreciate the news) and an _emandwa_ (about the length of his forearm). The _emandwa_ was a pretty cool one, they chatted about the faulty wiring and the dusty shelves for a good five minutes before it hopped off to hibernate whence it came from. ‘Whence’ (goddammit Cas).

Planning to berate his angel about his bad influence, Dean sought him out. “What’s the hold up, Sunshine?”

Cas shot up from where he was crouched before Jack and spun around, alarmed and visibly guilty. Dean paused, eyes falling to his firmly cupped palms. “Cas . . . what are you doing?”

Something in his voice must’ve tipped Sam off, who ambled over to watch them curiously. Cas’s mouth tightened, lips pouting a little as a consequence. His eyes went wide and oh no. Oh fuck, he knew where this was going.

He raised a finger in warning but it was too late.

The puppy-dog look was in full force.

And then there was a soft sound, almost like a . . . his trepidation multiplied. “Is that aꟷ”

“Kitten-bee!” Jack chirped happily. “Look, Dean! Cas found the kitten-bee!”

Goddammit.

“Huh,” Sam mused from where he’d sauntered over to sneak a peek. Dean narrowed his eyes. “It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s _very_ cute, Sam,” Cas protested, ridiculously affronted. “And defenseless. Doesn’t she look defenseless, Sam?”

Sam opened his mouth and Dean shushed him loudly, “Do not answer that, Sam.” The yeti sniffed but didn’t dig the hole deeper. Dean reset, “Cas, honey.”

“But it _is_ defenseless, Dean,” Cas interrupted passionately, eyes going even wider. Next to him, Sam snippily wished Dean good luck. “And benign. A helper creature, even. Just look.” And before Dean could veto that, he was crossing over and standing awfully close.

Dean faltered, briefly forgetting what they were even arguing about. Cas didn’t say anything either, but his gaze flicked down to Dean’s mouth. Dean licked his lips, feeling his breath catch in his throat. This close, he could smell the traces of laundry detergent and pinecones.

“Should we leave?” Jack's soft whisper broke them apart.

Cas blinked, as though surprised at their proximity. Dean smiled softly at him, unable to remember why he’d been mad in the first place. Then Cas’s flustered face tipped downwards. There it was again. The soft meow.

Dean followed his gaze and watched, mesmerized, as the long, sun-kissed fingers uncurled and stretched.

In the center of his palm sat a tiny . . . well, a tiny kitten-bee. It was blinking in the brightness, little black eyes fixed on the owner of the palm. And shit, he had a strange feeling that this was a mirror-moment. The little critter was falling in love with Cas, and Dean could relate.

Wait.

No, not happening. What the fuck would they even do with a fucking kitten-bee.

“Cas,” he said, soft but firm. “You cannot adopt a buzzing cat.”

The goddamn kitten-bee let out a little offended mewl. Dean goggled at it. Cas, still standing five fucking inches away, hushed lovingly at it, murmuring, “She can understand what you say, Dean. And she does not buzz, she meows.”

_She_?

Dean sighed, turning to ask his brother to back him up. Of course, the first thing he saw was Jack’s heartbroken expression. _Goddammit_. He glanced away and saw the carefully neutral expression on Sam’s face. _Goddammit part deux_. This was a fucking attack.

He groaned, “We can’t just take a random stray in, Cas. Especially not some random supernatural creature.”

At which point there was a pause.

Sam cleared his throat and stifled what looked suspiciously like amusement. Then Cas said, tentatively, “Dean . . . _I’m_ a supernatural creature too.”

“Me too, technically,” Jack decided to be helpful. Then he frowned, looking sad again, “Though maybe not right now.”

Dean’s gaze snapped around the room, till it landed back on Castiel, still watching him with those big baby blues. He deflated.

Y’all caught up now?

So! Here he was, somehow stuck playing nanny to a buzzing kitty he didn’t even _want_ in the first place.

Beeyoncéꟷ no, seriouslyꟷ mewled at him (adorably, the little pest) from the table. Her little antennae quivered as she mewled again, a little louder. Dean glared at her, because home invasion aside, the critter was responsible for the deafening lack of sex noises he’d managed to extricate from Cas’s throat in the last four days. Cas was so worried about her survival and making sure she didn’t end up under the business end of a flyswatter, he’d completely forgotten that he had a human boyfriend who needed sex to function happily. Or even a blowjob.

Hell, he’d take a cuddle at this point. But no, Cas spent every waking minute (so all fourteen-hundred forty of them) doting on a goddamn isolated kitten-bee.

And now he’d disappeared, Jack in tow, out into the world beyond the Bunker to get supplies for a creature no bigger than his pinkie. Which was not going to be its permanent size, he’d been informed. Thing would grow into an average cat.

Which also raised a question, “Do you really love that bug more than you love _me_?”

Cas had rolled his eyes, “ _Dean_.”

“I’m _dying_ , Cas!” Dean had bemoaned, rubbing at his puffed eyes. At which point Cas had leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, sneakily curing his allergy to cats.

Beeyoncé had looked awfully smug in the aftermath.

Dean curled closer to the table till he was at eye-level with the bug. He pointed at her, “Listen here, you goddamn menace.”

She meowed, little mouth stretching wide. Then she’d yawned, like an asshole. Peeved, Dean carefully tapped her twitching nose. “You,” he warned. “You . . .”

“Dean?” he jumped and spun around, careful not to squash her. Sam stood at the doorway, watching him curiously. “Is that . . . Beeyoncé?”

He tried to stifle the glee, but big brother saw through the weak façade.

“No. Yes. It’s not by choice,” Dean spluttered.

Sam snorted. “What, did Cas threaten to withhold sex if you didn’t babysit her?”

“How dare you?” his voice cracked with indignation.

“Dude,” Sam made his merry way over to a bookshelf. “Drop the act. Jack sent that recording of you feeding her water with a dropper to everyone in the group chat.”

That kid. That kid was going to be a nightmare when his teenage years really hit.

“I’m desperate, man,” he lamented. “You know how many days it’s been since I got some?”

“Four days,” Sam hummed casually, “Yeah, I know. You’ve only mentioned it every other hour.”

“Four days!” he continued, ignoring his brother’s insensitivity. Where was that annoying bleeding heart when he needed him? “It’s literally an itch I can’t scratch.”

“How about you tell Cas that?” Sam breezed out with a flying kiss towards the root of the problem. Beeyoncé mewed in farewell, saccharine sweet. Dean scowled at her.

There was no compassion left in the world anymore.

“Honey, I’m here.”

Dean jolted away from where he’d been watching the bug chase her own tail on the tabletop. He was just concerned the dumb shit would trip and squash herself, okay? And then he’d never get laid again.

He recovered quickly, “It’s ‘home’ not ‘here’, dork.”

Cas shrugged, unbothered, as he stomped down the stairs. He looked good, hair wind-ruffled and eyes bright. With single-minded purpose, Dean meandered over, forcing him to drop the bags as he accosted him with his lips.

Always tasted _heavenly_. Of course he did, heh. Dean moaned a little, insistently tugging him along.

Jack was a smart kid, he’d make himself scarce.

And then Cas just stopped, back to being a marble statue. Dean would’ve stumbled from the momentum had his strong angel boyfriend not wrapped his arms around his waist. Dean made a noise against his plush lips, refusing to part.

He felt the huff of Cas’s amused exhale. Then the angel was pulling back, “Nice to see you too. But it would be best if we didn't crush Beeyoncé during our amorous engagement.”

At which point the soft clearing of a throat made Dean freeze. He turned, a ‘you know better’ speech on the tip of his tongue. Then he did a double take. “The fuck?”

Jack smiled uncomfortably, tugging at his new leather jacket. “Hello.”

Dean turned back to Cas, shaking a fist, “What did you to this poor kid?”

“ _I_ think this is appropriate attire,” Cas argued.

“Appropriate for what? Hipster café? You know that hipsters are the downfall of society, right?” he couldn’t believe this. He thought he’d taught them better. Though Jack could be excused, on account of being two years old.

Dean cast a critical look at the kid’s new outfit. Dark wash jeans. Okay, not the skinny kind so Cas got some points for that. The jacket was pretty cool too. Very close in appearance to that one he’d worn in Vegas. Which . . . was information to file away for later, he decided, casting a furtive glance at his boyfriend. The camo button down, done up to the top, was what was throwing Dean off.

He clucked his tongue, stalking over and trying to counteract whatever the fuck had happened to the kid’s hair. He took a step back.

And whipped back to Cas, who was watching them with fondness and smugness rolled together. “Did you just say ‘ _date’_?”

Cas shrugged. Dean turned back and Jack nodded in confirmation. He faltered, wringing his hands, “Like a . . . like the fruit?”

The puppy-dog look wasn’t the only thing Cas learnt from Sam. Those two really shouldn’t be left alone if Sam wanted to keep his title as Queen Bitchface de el Bunker.

But also . . . a date?

“With whoꟷ _oh_.”

Cas smiled softly. “I believe our opinion about reciprocal regard on Patience’s side was not unfounded.”

That made him laugh in surprise. He slapped a rapidly reddening Jack on the back, “Patience asked you out?”

“She said she wanted to ‘hang out’ . . .” Jack mumbled, shifting from foot to foot. Dean chuckled. It was cute, even if it was just the beginning of a friendship. Jack was the kinda kid who’d be equally happy being BFFs with the clairvoyant.

“You should tell Sam,” Dean shrugged. “He can help you out with the actual date protocol.” He ignored the confused frown of Cas’s face. “And meanwhile, Cas can show me the goods.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the angel, who rolled his eyes even as a blush rose.

“Okay,” oblivious and happy, Jack trooped off to gather date-etiquette intel.

“I will not be stripping naked in the map room, Dean,” Cas informed him loftily, bending to dig into one of the bags. Because he had no self-control, Dean reached out and squeezed his butt.

That made him jump. “ _Dean_.”

“Hey, you said I could have it,” he said cheekily. Cas shot him a look full of promise of punishment. He shivered.

“Look at this.”

Huh. Neat.

It was a little box-like thing, with a hook to hang it off a wall. The box itself looked strong and comfortable, padded on the bottom and with a little net flap in the front. Like a trapdoor that could be pushed open from inside. The other walls, except the top, were also netted, providing clear visuals.

“I was wondering if you’d mind if I borrowed one of your wall-mounted hooks,” Cas continued.

Dean looked at what would be Beeyoncé’s new abode. The thing would fit in across his palm. The bug would grow into it, in a week or so. “Sure,” he said. “I got some stuff lyin’ around. I can nail it to the wall, if you want. Want it by your desk?”

“Oh,” Cas hummed, pulling away from where he was tickling the kitten-bee’s belly. It was not a heart-melting visual. It was _not_. “I meant I’d like to replace one of your wall-mounted guns. Beeyoncé is intelligent, but I didn’t want to risk her running into some potentially dangerous crevice in your room. Hence the basket.”

Dean halted. “You . . .” he tried to school his expression. “You want to keep her in my room?”

It was Cas’s turn to pause. He studied Dean as he replied, “Well . . . yes? I do not wish to leave her alone in _my_ room at night.”

“You . . .” Dean took inventory. “You’re staying in my room?”

“Dean . . .” Cas was saying slowly, like when he’d been talking to that toddler at the ice-cream parlor. “I _have_ been staying in your room.”

“Well,” okay that was true. But he thought that was _different_ , okay? This almost sounded like, “Are you . . . are you moving in with me?”

The carefully neutral expression was permeated by nervous fluster, “Um.” Cas bit his lip, looking down to tap on the bug’s nose. “It would be strategic, of course. I do not require sleep, and when I do, it’s usually. It’s in your room, that I sleep these days anyway.”

Dean swallowed, heart suddenly jumping into his throat. “You’re moving in with me.”

“Well, we do occupy the same home,” the dick snarked. “But,” his expression faltered into shyness again. “Yes. That would be accurate.”

Cas peeked at him from where his head was downturned, eyes twinkling with . . . a lot of emotions.

He was so getting laid tonight.

They made short work of shifting Cas’s five whole belongings to his room. Beeyoncé found her perch above the slab on the wall, mounted in place of his trusty sawed-off. From the bed, one would just need to turn their head to check on her, happily purring in her new home.

From the bed. Which they were currently occupying.

Dean did that sneaky little thing with his incisors that made Cas moan. In retaliation, he felt warm fingers stroke down his spine. He shivered, making a noise of approval.

The trenchcoat and the suit jacket had given their lives to the cause (the cause being getting Dean some dick), and Dean’s flannel has just been yeeted. This was promising.

Until.

“Okay. We should stop,” Cas was pulling back. He looked as bad as Dean felt, completely debauched, though they hadn’t even gotten the tie off yet. (Or he could leave it on. Yeah. He was leaving that tie the fuck on.)

“Getting close there, sweetheart?” Dean smirked, diving right back in to lavish the side of his throat.

“Deaꟷ ah! Oh,” Cas sounded breathless. “No . . . we shouldꟷ hnnnngh. We should stop before we can’t.”

That got his attention. He pulled back, watching the angel’s flustered appearance carefully. “You okay?” he said, cupping Cas’s face in his hands.

Like cat, like master. Cas arched gently into his palm, shivering and purring softly. He was so fucking sensitive. Dean felt the heady rush of power. “It would be very inconsiderate of us if we subjected Beeyoncé to our sexual engagement.”

These terms were getting worse. One of these days . . . one of these days, he was going to make Cas say ‘fuck’ outside the bedroom. One of these days.

Then realization tipped an icy bucket of water on his head.

“What. Wait, what?”

Cas shot him an annoyed look, “She must be discomfited already. We don’t want to disrupt her accommodation, do we?”

And then. And then the fucker dropped Dean onto his own bed and went to check on the fucking bug.

“Cas . . .” Dean started, very calmly.

“I apologize, Bee,” Cas was talking to the fucking bug. “We did not forget that you were cognizant of the happenings here, of course,” he shot Dean a meaningful look, as though he wanted _Dean_ to _apologize_ to the _fucking bug_ too.

“Cas . . .” Dean insisted.

“Rest assured that nothing will happen henceforth." 

"Cas."

"At least, until you’ve matured enough to spend your nights guarding the Bunker,” Cas crooned, blissfully ignorant of Dean’s dawning horror.

“Caaaaaas!”

\---

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I love hipsters, please don't be mad and keep feeding me your caffeinated concoctions!  
> Pssst . . . leave a smol heart if this tickled yours.


End file.
